Warm My Spirit With Your Sugar Lips
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: Blaine finds out he's diabetic.


**Author's Note: I have a serious obsession with sick!blaine fics. Also, this was a tumblr prompt.**

* * *

"Can you pull over?" Blaine crossed his legs tightly and fixed his focus outside of the passenger seat window. He'd refrained from asking for a full twenty minutes, but couldn't wait any longer.

"For what now?" Kurt slowed to a stop at a red light and cast a glance at Blaine over his shoulder.

"Have to use the bathroom," Blaine mumbled.

"Again? We just stopped—" Kurt paused as Blaine turned to face him, a pathetic and embarrassed expression plaguing his usually cheerful demeanor. "Are you—is everything…okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his bladder tender and frantic. "Shouldn't have drunk all of that water."

"I'll pull into the next shopping center coming up," Kurt hunched over, laying his chest against the steering wheel to get a better look at the traffic light. Blaine shifted in his seat again as the light turned green and Kurt drove onwards, turning into a mall parking lot a few lights ahead of them. Blaine had barely waited for him to stop the car before flinging the door open and dashing inside, leaving Kurt shaking his head—tiny smile at the ready—as he pressed the button for his hazard lights.

* * *

"Blaine, wake up. Come on, naptime's over—we have homework to start," Kurt stretched out beside Blaine on his queen sized bed, a yawn clinging to his words. Blaine made no attempt at moving. "Blaine, come on," Kurt changed his tone, whining as he snuggled closer to him. He nuzzled Blaine's neck, littering it with kisses and trailed his way up to Blaine's lips when he hadn't received any reaction. He paused and frowned when the smell of fruit invaded his nostrils—Blaine always chewed mint gum.

"Blaine?" Kurt sat up and placed both hands on Blaine's chest, shaking him. "Blaine, wake up!" He slid a hand over Blaine's chest, pressing down and trying to locate a heartbeat before leaning down low over Blaine's mouth. Blaine was breathing, but barely.

"DAD!" the initial word he screamed left his throat feeling raw, causing his voice to crack as he tried to shout out a little more information for his father to go on. "Dad, help!"

Burt Hummel's heavy footsteps came thudding downstairs so quickly that Kurt was afraid he might turn towards the staircase to discover his father tumbling down the remainder of them. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Blaine won't wake up and he's barely breathing and—" he voiced his panic in distorted fragments, choking down tears. "Dad, what do I do? What do we do?"

Burt looked between them helplessly—there had been nothing in the parents' handbook about this. '_Lizzie would have known what to do_,' crossed his mind before instinct kicked in and he reached for his phone to call for an ambulance. "Kurt, just try to stay calm. It'll be okay."

"What's wrong with him?" Kurt slid his hand into Blaine's, clinging tightly as though he might be able to transfer consciousness to him through the tiny gesture of squeezed reassurance. Burt's heart dropped as he watched the familiar scene unfurl, reminded of the many nights they'd spent in the hospital with Kurt's mother; Kurt's eight year old mindset in regards to reacting to this type of situation appeared to be exactly the same ten years later.

"I—I don't know, kiddo. Just hang tight," Burt gave their address over the phone and took a seat on the bed beside Kurt. "Did he seem okay before?"

"He was tired, he kept saying he was tired. And that he felt nauseous. So we took a nap," Kurt pressed his thumb into one of the veins on the back of Blaine's hand. He was beginning to make the transition from panic to shock. This scared Burt more than anything—the resigned defeat he'd been forced to witness on the face of his eight-year-old son—and he'd give anything to make sure it never happened again.

* * *

They'd been sitting in stretched silence for at least two hours while they waited. Burt kept trying to engage his son, keep him from slipping into that terrifying land of negativity that his overactive imagination sometimes took him to. But Kurt kept his responses limited to nodding and head shaking, his eyes fixed on the information desk.

"What about his parents, Kurt? Do you think they're on their way?" Burt began to extend an arm over Kurt's shoulders and decided against it at the last moment, tucking it under the other and pressing them against his chest instead.

"I doubt it," it had been the first time Kurt had spoken since they arrived. "I think they're fighting again."

"What makes you say that?" Burt sat up straighter, casting an uneasy eye over to the information desk.

"Because I saw blankets in the backseat of his car again," Kurt crossed his legs under himself for the twelfth time in the last half hour—he'd been fidgeting since they'd been restricted to the packed waiting room. "And they probably would have been here by now."

"Kid just can't catch a break," Burt responded gruffly, pity anchoring his confession.

"I guess not," Kurt's voice shrank and Burt could physically feel his son's charisma, his abundantly beautiful and loving soul, fading away into that forbidden land Burt had been trying so hard to keep him out of. He unfolded his arms and draped one over Kurt's shoulders anyways, pulling his boy close despite the rigidity in Kurt's movements and despite the overall apathy his teenage son was exuding. It wasn't much, and he knew that, but it was all he could think to offer. After a moment, Kurt leaned his head onto Burt's shoulder and they shared another period of prolonged silence until a doctor approached them.

* * *

Kurt barely set foot into the room before Blaine sprung up in bed, shockwaves of relief dispersing over both of their pale faces, and exclaimed, "Thank god, please get over here now."

Kurt immediately obeyed and Burt watched them for a moment from the doorway, his heart still giving him the impression it had been replaced with lead, as they embraced.

"I don't understand. What happened?" Blaine clung to Kurt, his tired eyes landing on Burt in humbled appreciation for both of the Hummels being present.

"You wouldn't wake up," Kurt replied, quiet and two feet tall.

Before Blaine could pose any more questions, a thin, dark skinned woman walked in. She wore a pale, yellow v-neck shirt and brown skirt under her white coat—her collarbones jutting out prominently; her expression, her eyes, matched her clothing choice perfectly: soft umber, peaceful and inviting. "Good to see you're finally awake, Blaine. I'm Dr. Nasaam."

Kurt straightened up, moving to take a seat beside Burt but Blaine caught his wrist, closing his fingers around it firmly and desperately—his eyes though: they remained on this stranger. "I bet you have a lot of questions." He released Kurt's wrist and cast him a weary glance; Kurt sat on the edge of the bed and slipped a hand into Blaine's, uncertain of the proper reaction Blaine was looking to elicit from him.

"What exactly happened to him?" Burt piped up when neither of the boys had said anything. All eyes turned to him—Blaine's grateful and afraid; Kurt's tired and questioning; the doctor's still tranquil and patient.

"Something we call Diabetic ketoacidosis," she turned back to Blaine, who still looked just as puzzled as he did before her diagnosis. "Based on your confusion, I'm going to go ahead and assume you still aren't quite sure what I'm talking about."

"I understand diabetic, but…" Blaine gave Kurt's hand a squeeze, tethering himself down and trying to work through his muddled thoughts. "I mean, I don't have—I—well, I think my grandpa did, but what's the other word mean?"

"Basically, your body isn't producing enough insulin, which you need in order to help sugar enter your cells. Your body starts to break down fat instead which produces a build up of toxic acids in your bloodstream called ketones. Do you understand so far?"

"So my body was… basically poisoning itself?" Blaine drew the question out hesitantly, wondering if he was anywhere near right.

"Very good, Blaine," she offered a kind smile; the type a mother might offer her child with pride. "In order to keep that from happening again, I'm going to show you how to test your blood sugar levels and then inject insulin so that you can control them."

Blaine gulped audibly and Kurt's face dropped in empathy, "He sort of has a thing against needles." Kurt took Blaine's hand between both of his, rubbing small circles into the prominent veins.

"I hate them," Blaine moaned. "Isn't there another way?"

"I'm afraid not, kiddo," she looked at him apologetically. "But look at it this way, it might help you get over that—the more you have to do it, that is."

"And how long do I have to do this for?" Blaine sank back against his pillow, his lower lip trembling as he cast Burt—sitting too long in his silence—a wary expression.

"Diabetes is a chronic disease, Blaine," she sounded almost dejected in her admission to him. "You're going to have to do this everyday for the rest of your life."

Beside him, Kurt mumbled something inaudibly, but Blaine was too focused on the way Burt's face crumbled at the words "chronic disease." Mr. Hummel's expression had forced a light to click on in Blaine's head and he realized what Kurt had said: _Disease, I hate that word._ Even though these people weren't his immediate family, they were taking in the news as though they were. And, despite being the one laying in the hospital bed, receiving the diagnosis, Blaine was never the type to put his self-pity on display… especially when others were obviously hurting.

"Come on, guys, it's not exactly a death sentence now," Blaine jingled his hand between Kurt's slightly to get his attention, before letting his uncertain eyes fall on Dr. Nasaam again. "Right?"

"Right, Blaine," she smiled sadly.

"Kurt?" he tore his gaze away from her to face his doe eyed boyfriend, who raised his eyebrows questioningly at the mention of his name. "You'll—you'll help me, right? With—" he looked to Dr. Nasaam again. "Is that okay? If he wants to learn how to help me with the—the um—insulin…. business," he mumbled the last two words, still unwilling to refer to his treatment by the proper name: insulin injections.

"Of course I'll help," Kurt cut in before Dr. Nasaam could get a word in. "Why would you even think you need to ask me that, Blaine?"

"I'll just leave you three to absorb everything for a few minutes while I prepare the equipment we'll need," she walked out of the room, the clicking of her heels fading away in a matter of seconds.

Blaine returned his attention to Kurt, leaning forward and placing a kiss on his forehead; his lip still trembled as he fought to maintain his composure. "How can you be so calm about this?" Kurt blurted out, watching Blaine incredulously with frustration and sorrow in his glassy eyes.

"Kurt," Burt began but Kurt refused to hear any of it.

"No, he's—dad, he's sick. He's really, really sick and—" Kurt pressed a palm to his right eye and then to his left, keeping the other hand entwined in Blaine's.

"And you're afraid," Blaine offered quietly behind a crooked, half-attempt at a smile.

"So are you," Kurt sniffled.

"Yeah," Blaine hesitated. "Yeah, I am—"

"Then show it! You're allowed to, Blaine. Jesus," Kurt laughed, almost bitterly. "It's like… It's like you refuse to ever let anyone see you as anything but perfectly held together, when I know that you're not. Why are you pretending to be okay?"

"If you'd let me finish," Blaine began calmly and paused to see if Kurt would interrupt him again. "Yeah, I'm afraid, but… I mean, well… I have you guys."

"Kiddo," Burt sounded so soft-spoken, so unlike himself that it began to worry Blaine. "And you're always going to have us. But Kurt's right, even I can tell you're not all right. You don't have to pretend around us, Blaine. You're hurting bad, kid, and this is some heavy sh—stuff," he quickly corrected himself, "to take in."

"And how many times have you seen me in tears, right?" Kurt added, sniffling again and pressing a kiss to the back of Blaine's hand. "Think it's only fair that you entitle yourself at least one breakdown in my presence."

"Okay," Blaine's throat suddenly constricted, leaving him sounding distant and miniscule. "Okay, I'm terrified. Really—" he cleared his throat, coughed down a strangled choke just begging to be heard. "_Really_ terrified, Kurt. I don't know how I'll even pay for any of this and you _know_ how much I can't stand needles and—"

"And we'll figure it all out together," Kurt graced Blaine's cheek with a kiss to discover a salty, wet aftertaste lingering on his lips as he pulled back.

"S'right, kiddo," Burt chimed in, nodding.

Blaine all but threw himself at Kurt, entangling his arms around his boyfriend and burying his face in the crook between Kurt's clavicle and neck—his go to spot for hickey destinations and now his fallback for comfort—as he felt all of his anxieties become paramount to every other emotion. Kurt rocked him gently, bony fingers working themselves into Blaine's back as he whispered affections and reassurance. Dr. Nasaam watched the scene, silently, from the doorway for a moment before putting her weight on the tips of her shoes, keeping her heels from touching the floor and alerting any of them of her presence, and decided one more lap around the building couldn't hurt.


End file.
